CD is packed in a 6 panel digipack with artwork by Peter Christopherson (Coil, Throbbing Gristle) sure to offend someone somewhere! TPS's resume is probably one of the most schizophrenic in the musicians' pool. That's likely why his own projects are increasingly interesting, dynamic, cosmic and ever ready to poke a bit of fun at musical conventions. Even unconventional conventions. The opening scherzo of the first electro-acoustic track seems to take the piss out of countless atonal mezzo-soprano works of the 60's and 70's (think Robert Ashley, Peter Maxwell Davies, Luigi Nono, etc.). The sung dialogue contains such insightful phrases as 'but does the commander wear glasses,' and 'my nostrils are just perfect,' and 'I'm not above using these tongs you know.' Even while giving the battered old genre a good whollup, TPS nonetheless manages to make a modern electro-acoustic mezzo-soprano work work (though methinks tis a falsetto here). He has a bit of fun with it all and then resoundly tears the thing asunder into melting pool of glinting and burbling electro, not unlike some of Coil's latter day schizotronics. And that's just track 1! The next is a vast psych out with rhythmic bass and keyboard dialogues digressing into eruptions of drum cadence and electronyxx, vulcanizing as into a new Earth. Heavy and improvisational, like Red Crayola's Free Form Freakout spliced into Verto or Brainticket. The gelatinous citizenry finally sets into a closing garage punker that almost sounds lifted from a Pebbles compilation. The following extended form electronic work incorporates sinewy modern jazz guitar lines with vibes creating, perhaps, the fourth stream? The frequencies clang and grunt, again, like Coily-poo, but with an arrangement that could be nothing but TPS (kind of like Music Is Rotted One Note taken to a much weirder extreme). A quietly atmospheric, Sylvian-esque churner brings the mood down a shade, leading to the album's closing coda; a sequenced and psychedelic stroll through an avant jazz landscape, pinging a touch like LPD crossed with ancient Clock DVA. Thereafter, the laser retreats back to track one and the ear tries to once again to parse all the intricate and sublime arranging that makes this such a compelling album. TPS may well be the Bach, or possibly the Esquivel of today's avant garde set. Either way, the thigh's have it! Coil, Spiritualized, Brain Donor, Julian Cope, ...